


the comfort of bread

by summerwines



Category: Free!
Genre: Implied Sexual Content, Long Distance Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-21
Updated: 2014-01-21
Packaged: 2018-01-09 13:15:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1146431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerwines/pseuds/summerwines
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A picnic, and then, days and days without each other. Instead of losing hope, Haruka seeks the comfort of friends, and the comfort of bread.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the comfort of bread

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the MakoHaru Festival! The challenge: Losing hope.

**I.**

Sitting in sunshine. The mat, the grass, soft on his legs. Jam unopened, butter on bread, strawberries in a basket; he licks his lips. He drinks the tea, hot in its thermos. He hears footsteps from behind him; the breathing of another man. He turns his head, and he sees the person he was waiting for, running, and smiling. He smiles back, mouth quirking up, if only just a little.

“I'm sorry I'm late.” Makoto bends down, holding his knees while he pants. “The twins—Their lessons—I wanted to—One last time—” He breathes.

Late, he says. Haru checks his watch. 5 minutes. 5 minutes late. “You're not late.”

He sits himself down, pants. His hand rests on Haru's shoulder. 

“I'm late for my own goodbye picnic. This is horrible.”

Good brothers don't get to be good boyfriends. Fact of life. Haru shrugs.

“Have a strawberry,” Haru says, picking one out. He lifts Makoto's chin with the tips of his fingers. The strawberry, all red, and all fresh, is plopped into Makoto's mouth.

“Really good.”

“Of course it is.” 

Haru takes a piece of bread wrapped in a napkin with purple dots. He forces Makoto to bite. “It's hot. Newly baked. There's cheese in it. Can you tell?” Makoto nods and smiles. 

They eat, and they talk about eating. Makoto hooks an arm around Haru's shoulders, and Haru puts a hand on Makoto's cheek. They kiss. As always, it's soft. Of course, Haru tastes the strawberries, right on Makoto's tongue. His heart, beats hard. Makoto's pulse, it seems, from the way it feels against Haru's palm, is screaming, horribly erratic. 

Haru puts their hands together, like they're joined in prayer. “Bye-bye, Makoto,” he says.

A nod, a smile. Trite, as always.

The jar of jam is opened, and they try it on the bread. For a moment, Haru thinks it tastes sweeter than Makoto's lips. Makoto kisses him one more time, and licks the smudge off Haru's mouth. Haru decides that the jam is not sweeter. The sun stays shining. A fly dashes by. Yet another piece of bread, fed into Makoto's mouth.

 

**II.**

Gently, the rain starts to pour. The sky abandons the summer. Haru sees it from the window of his kitchen. Suddenly, the apartment feels colder.

Around the dining table, the Matsuokas are eating the fish-shaped biscuits from Haru's fish-shaped bowl. “Get cooking already,” Rin says. “We haven't got all day.”

Already filleted, the fish is laid on the hissing virgin oil. The smell from the pan wafts through his nose. He puts the salt, the pepper, and he flips the fish over. Kou stands to peer at his work. She's silent, in awe. He can hear Rin still crunching on the biscuits.

It takes four minutes. “Smells really good,” Kou says.

Haru fixes up the dressing, with oil and garlic and red wine vinegar. “I'm hungry,” Rin grumbles.

“I'm glad we came to visit,” Kou says. “Though we could've done without the storm.” She helps Haru set up the plates and the chopsticks. The rice, pre-cooked, is put into a bowl for all of them to share. 

They're already eating when Rin gives Haru a glare. Their eyes meet, and Haru says, “What is it?”

Kou glances at her brother and she sighs.

“Why has Makoto never come over?” Rin says.

“Well,” Haru takes his chopsticks and eats a part of the fillet. Last night, he and Makoto were talking on the phone. It's summer break, but Makoto has taken an interning job at Tokyo's city hall. Haru told him he was busy too, which he is, because he's taken a job as well, assisting the chefs at a ramen house. 

“I'm incredibly happy, that you're doing well.” Just thinking of Makoto's voice makes Haru feel warm.

“Me too, Makoto,” Haru told him. “See you when I see you.”

Makoto laughed. “Yeah, Haru, see you soon.”

Haru tells Rin, “He's busy.” Rin sighs, and Haru adds, “Though I think he mentioned calling again today.”

The sound of rain, pelting hard; thunder booms, as the phone sitting on one of the counters starts to ring – a fortunate coincidence.

“Oh,” Haru says. “That—That must be him.” 

When Haru picks up the phone, he immediately tells Makoto about the visitors.

“Rin! Kou! I'm so glad to hear from you guys.” His voice is smooth on the speaker phone.

Haru grabs the quilted basket of wheat bread he keeps beside his coffee maker and blender. He eats one while Rin and Kou talk to Makoto on the phone, about school, about their life in Tottori, about his life in Tokyo. 

Haru dabs a piece of bread with the fish's dressing. Nothing better than garlic and bread, making his mouth rumple. He listens – “Tokyo's pretty hot at this time of year. My bosses are—how do you say this—they're nice? But a little scary. There are a lot of people, these days, asking for welfare.” Haru closes his eyes and listens.

“Makoto-sempai, you better take care of yourself,” Kou says, hands on her hips.

“If you turn into some big shot, you better not forget about us.”

“Now, now, Rin. I think you're the one who's gonna be a big shot here. You're training to join the Olympics, right?”

Rin crosses his arms. “That's beside the point, you shit.”

Rin quarrels, tells Makoto to visit; Haru decides to interject, “What did you have for lunch?”

The room falls silent, for but a moment, until Makoto fills it in. “Made myself a sandwich,” he says. “It was not very good.”

“Then you better come here and let Haru cook for you,” Rin says, making Kou laugh, making Haru smile.

“Yeah, you better,” Haru says.

A laugh, it flutters. Makoto's voice lightens when he says, “Yes, I will. Soon.”

Rin and Kou flash their smiles in Haru's direction. The rain is still pelting. Haru eats his piece of bread. 

It ends like this: “Bye-bye,” Makoto says.

They all speak, in unison, “Bye-bye, Makoto-kun.”

 

**III.**

His mother comes over to check on the cleanliness. Even back in Iwatobi, she did this, at least three times year, as a way to prove she wasn't a horrible mother. Today, an orange leaf is stuck to her coat; a tiny twig is fastened to her hair. She is holding an umbrella, tight around her knuckles.

At the door, Haru helps her clean up. “You're a mess, mama.” He flicks away the twig in her hair. He takes the leaf, and he swats off any other unwanted dirt.

“It was not in my control. The trees are unkind.” She says this and lets herself in. Her eyes scan the room. 

Haru sighs. He lets her do as she wants, like always. In a minute, she has taken off her coat, revealing her blouse and her oversized cargo shorts. He knows she won't be doing too much work; he's not a mess like Makoto. 

It doesn't stop her berating. Curtains, horrid. Pillow cases, stinky. 

“Crumbs! You have to pay attention to them, Haruka. All of them. If you don't, the ants will take over your home. Are you going to sit around and let that happen? The answer is no. No you will you not.”

“Ay, this shampoo. Not good for your hair at all. Didn't I tell you not to buy these sachets? Buy the ones with the French names. They love hair over there. I should know!”

“Whose boxers are these?” With a pen, she lifts the shorts from the bedroom. Her eyebrow arches. “They're too big for you, Haruka.”

“M—Mom!” He grabs it. “They're—” He balls it up in his fist. “They're Makoto's.”

“Makoto-kun's? How—Where is he? I thought he was in Tokyo.” She looks around the living room, as if she's expecting Makoto to suddenly emerge from one the doors.

“He was here yesterday. He left at dawn.”

“Yesterday? He was here?”

“Yes—He was.”

Indeed, he was. He had a three-day weekend, and out of a whim, he decided to fly over. 

Haru's mother puts her hands on her hips. “Then I should've come yesterday. You should've told me. He and I—We haven't spoken to each other since you started dating, Haruka.”

“It's—none of your—Mama, it's not—” 

“Don't tell me it's none of my business, Haruka.” She pokes Haru's forehead, and Haru has to close his eyes. “This is the man who will be with you forever. So a proper conversation between mother and son-in-law is completely necessary.”

Haru blushes, mortified at every single word his mother said. “He's—He's not your son-in-law.”

“He might as well be.”

Haru looks down. He hears his mother grumble. She turns around, and she walks to the couch to sit herself down.

“Yesterday. What did you do? Tell me.”

He scratches his head. Yesterday, he and Makoto walked around town. Haru gave him a tour of his culinary school. And, to several restaurants, they went to eat. They ate dango with savory sweet sauce, and they sat across from each other on plastic chairs under an umbrella with dragon pattern. They sat in a booth, purely yellow, and they ate nutella crepe, with whipped cream and vanilla ice cream. There was a smudge on Makoto's chin, and he was so cute; Haru kissed it off. (His mother won't know about that part; of course she won't.)

“There really isn't much to tell,” he says. Though he does tell her about the walking, and the touring, and some parts about the eating.

On the couch, he stays. His mother stands and starts to sweep again. He hugs a pillow and watches her. She starts to sweat, and the wetness starts seeping through her blouse. Haru says he wants to help her, but she says, “No, Haruka. Let me do this. Just keep talking.”

Keep talking. When he was younger, not once did he hear the phrase. Now that he's older, it comes and comes, flooding out of his mother's mouth.

Yesterday, he bought new plates, with little fishes drawn around it. “They're still in the box—Over there by the sink.” He'd been thinking of buying them for quite a while, but it never seemed right to do it, until Makoto pushed him to. 

“You don't need me to choose plates for you, Haru,” Makoto laughed.

“It's not that—It's just—I wanted to be sure, that you'd like them too, Makoto.” 

They met with one of Haru's friends from school, a girl named Aya, who treated them to newly baked, milky bread. She told them they were a cute couple, “Even cuter than me and my boyfriend. I can't believe Haru-chan beat me.” She giggled, said Makoto was adorable, like a little kid, because he ate the bread in but a few seconds.

Then: a public pool, still open at night, the shape of the moon reflecting on the surface. Though they were full, they jumped in anyway. For the most part, Makoto stayed above, lying down. Haru stayed wherever, whipping his legs underwater, treading on the surface, swimming freestyle, from one end to another. They did not remain for too long, because home was waiting, and they wanted some time in private.

Makoto stayed over, but he had to leave at 3 in the morning to catch his flight. Quickly, Haru made him a package and forced him to take it: toiletries, instant noodles from the healthy options store, a jug for water in the likeness of a fish kite, and the milky bread that he liked so much.

Before this, they were sweating in bed. Haru asked if he could keep Makoto's boxers. Makoto blushed, nodded, blushed. Of course, Haru leaves this out of the story.

“Your father and I were never apart for that long,” his mother says, as she brooms the dust and the fallen hair. “I will never understand how you make it work.” 

Haru hugs his pillow tighter. He starts to smile, thinking of the way Makoto would've explained it.

_With love. That's how we do it._

Haru bites his lip to hold back a laugh. His mother shakes her head and keeps on sweeping, this time moving towards the bedroom.

Later on, he hugs his mother, thanking her for the visit. She doesn't hug back. If he were her, he would not have hugged back as well. What she does is grab his face with her hands, giving him a light slap on the cheek. “You, my son. You turned out okay. I'm glad I didn't mess you up.”

Haru smiles, full on. His mother gives him another light slap. 

“See you soon, Haruka.”

“See you soon, mama.”

 

**IV.**

Still autumn, though nearing the end. Makoto wastes money on yet another plane. “I don't think I can come in the winter, so better now than never?” Haruka frowns and shoves money into his face.

“You know—“ Makoto bites his lips. They are taking the train to Iwatobi, because Makoto's parents said they should. While a crowd buzzes around them, they talk in whispers. “You know, Haru. Two years in, and I'm still getting used to—being away from you.”

Haru nods in his direction. “Yeah.”

“But it doesn't mean I won't ever get used to it.”

“I know.”

“We just—“

“Need a little time.”

Makoto nods.

“But it's all worth it,” Haru says, resting his head on Makoto's shoulder, closing his eyes. 

“Yeah. I've made so many new friends, Haru. I can't—” His voice, breaking. “I can't wait for you to meet all of them.”

“Mm.” 

The train hits a stop. Makoto and Haruka sneak a kiss, taking advantage of the bustling crowd. 

When they arrive at Iwatobi, Nagisa greets them at the station. He's stuffing his face with a dinner roll, and he doesn't stop eating when he pulls his friends into a hug. 

They only get to talk for a little while, after that, because Nagisa has to leave as well, for a part-time job at the grocer's in town. “You should visit more often, Haru-chan. You only live a train away! Rei-chan comes to visit whenever he can. You should too.” He pouts, and he squeezes Haru's arm.

At Makoto's house, Nagisa parts with them. They say goodbye. Nagisa waves when he's far enough, and he tilts his head, up to the sky. He shouts, “It's going to snow soon. I'm sure of it.”

Makoto looks at Haru and Haru meets his gaze. They smile; they giggle.

They enter the house, ready for the inevitable. They never get to share a moment alone, because Ren, Ran, and Makoto's parents cannot, will not leave Makoto alone, understandably so. 

Sleep comes naturally, after tiring hours conversing with the folks and playing games with the twins. In the middle of the night, Haru nuzzles himself under Makoto's arm. He keeps his nose on Makoto's shirt, afraid he'll forget how he smells when the morning comes.

It's ridiculous, because he'll never forget the way Makoto smells, like cologne and sweat and sunshine and warmth. Or a fresh piece of toast. Or a warm bath on a cold day. That kind of smell.

Indescribable, really.

In the train back to Tottori, where the plane is to fly in but a few hour's time, Haru kisses Makoto and smells his hair, bites his chin, smells his hair again.

They separate, and it's okay, because Haru knows—he knows nothing will change. Though if they will, it would all be for the better.

 _It's going to snow soon, Haru-chan. It is._ The messages flood Haru's phone. _Visit. Now. Rei-chan is here. And you have to cook for us._ Haru laughs. _No. Rei will not cook. No. His cooking? No heart, Haru-chan._

Haru calls Nagisa up, more than once in a single month. An achievement, he thinks. 

His mother comes again to clean the apartment, to talk about the leaves and how she wants them gone, to give Haru a lecture about the dreadful curtains with the fish prints.

Rin and Kou—he doesn't talk to too often. Once, Rin sent him a picture of an olympic pool. Once, Kou sent him a picture of a chocolate cake she baked all by herself.

It's January. Haru fills his tub with lukewarm water. On the ledge, he leaves a green bottle of sake and a wine glass. He strips naked and he dips himself in the water. He rests, and then he drinks, until he falls asleep.

He wakes up to the vibrate of his phone, resting by the sink. According to a text, Makoto will call him on the laptop. Haru stands up and wipes himself. He dresses up. For a minute, he stares at what's happening outside.

The snow on the window hides away the light of the sun. He takes a shawl from the coat hanger and wraps himself with it. He gets the video call on his laptop, which he puts on his dining table. While Haru busies himself in the kitchen, Makoto speaks – about a man, and a car, and how Makoto helped him push it out of the snow; an eventful day. The toaster's timer hits zero: Bread, toasted, until it turned brown. “Yesterday, I caught snowflakes in my hand,” comes Makoto's voice. Smiles, from the both of them. Another glass of wine; rice in a bowl; radish, fish cakes, boiled eggs for the hot pot. Apartment, growing colder. Haruka, in a shawl, prepared. Sitting in dim light.

Fin.

**Author's Note:**

> If you like my work, pretty please give it a heart thingy (you know, the like thingy) [on the festival page](makoharufestival.tumblr.com/post/74159604506/challenge-losing-hope-user-fantasticmrlc-rating).


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